by Nalini Singh
Sascha made a mental note to keep an eye out. “Go on.”
“The thing is, after her death, no one could find any hint of that work in her office or home. It was like she’d been doing nothing for several years.” Nicki hummed a spooky tune. “Weird, huh?”
“Very,” Sascha said, but she saw another angle. “The conspiracy theorists think someone got rid of her work.”
“Bingo. Even though they don’t know what that work was.” A pause. “I mean, they think they do—according to Helene, the information was passed down through the family of a colleague of Eldridge’s—but they have no clue what it means.”
“Did they give you any hint of what they think she was working on?”
“Yes. Helene said Eldridge was doing a long-term project on X-Psy.” Nicki paused again. “Do you know what the X stands for?”
Sascha swallowed and sidestepped the question. “You did a fantastic job, Nicki. I’ll be sure to tell Keely.”
Nicki made a little noise of delight. Laughing, Sascha was about to say good-bye when Nicki said, “Oh, wait, Sascha, I almost forgot—a copy of Eldridge’s book goes for over five hundred thousand dollars, it’s so rare. Any that are left are mostly in very private collections.”
“Thanks, Nicki.” Breath lost, she hung up and just sat there for several minutes. Five hundred thousand dollars? Dear God. Not that Nikita couldn’t afford it—that amount was nothing to her—but still . . .
She stared at the book once again, knowing it might provide the very answers she’d been seeking. Freed from the bondage of Silence, her empathic powers were changing, developing, growing. What she didn’t know was what they were growing into.
Her hand reached out. Withdrew. “Am I being a coward?” she asked out loud, then shook her head. “No, I’m being cautious.” Picking it up, she took it back inside the house—storing it in the safe hidden under the eco-cooker.
Despite her questions, her curiosity, she wasn’t yet ready to face her mother’s gift. Nikita had cut her off without a blink. It would take time to see anything but rejection when she looked at Eldridge’s book.
Riley headed out from Mercy’s office with a deep sense of rightness in his gut. She’d accepted the mating dance. He had no intention of letting her escape the mating itself, no matter what he had to do.
Walking into the underground garage, he raised an eyebrow when he saw the tall, red-headed male leaning against his four-wheel drive. “Bastien.”
“Riley.”
“Where are your brothers?”
Bastien smiled and it was nothing friendly. “They’ll be along soon. So, what makes you think you have any right to lay a hand on my sister?”
“She gave me that right.” He met those bright green eyes without flinching. In a physical fight, he knew he’d win. But this wasn’t about the physical. It was about something far more important—Mercy loved her family. He was not going to fuck up their relationship by beating on her brother. “Seems to me she’s a woman who knows what she wants.”
“She’s also my sister.” Bastien straightened. “And you’re a wolf.”
The hairs on Riley’s nape rose as another man entered the garage. He was older, his hair lightly threaded with gray. “I didn’t expect your father.”
“When you’re touching his baby girl?” Bastien snorted. “Hi, Dad. Shall we kill him here or take him out to the forest?”
Michael Smith folded his arms and fixed Riley with a gimlet eye. “You going to hurt my girl?”
“No, sir.”
“According to her grandmother, you already broke my Mercy’s heart.”
Riley’s stomach pitched, not at the words, but at the memory of how he’d hurt her. “She’s not that fragile.” He felt a sudden kinship with Judd. Riley and Drew had made his life hell after he first started seeing Brenna.
“No, she’s fucking not.” Bastien grinned as Sage and Grey entered the suspiciously otherwise-empty garage. Riley was now surrounded by Smith men. He didn’t make any aggressive moves toward the two youngest, though they were pushing into his space. Pups, they were just pups. Bastien could be dangerous, but in this, Michael Smith was the one who truly mattered.
Now the older man stepped closer. “She ever beaten you in a fight?”
“Almost.” And he knew full well that if she ever came after him with lethal intent, he might not end up the victor—predatory changeling females were inexorable hunters once they decided on blood.
“How’d that go down?”
Riley understood that was the most crucial question of all. He could’ve lied. He didn’t. “Like sandpaper.”
Michael blinked, as if surprised. “Then why are you with her?”
He held the other man’s gaze, let his own fill with the raw fury of the wolf. “You know why. And you know I won’t walk away.”
CHAPTER 41
Two hours after Riley left, Mercy tracked down and talked to Teijan. The Rat alpha was visibly frustrated, his normally GQ-tidy hair wind-tousled, his black shirt wrinkled. “I know something’s happening, but damn if they aren’t good at hiding their tracks.”
Mercy thought about that. “Humans have learned to be invisible. These guys take it to the extreme.” And if the Human Alliance wanted to show muscle, display what it was capable of, it would send its best. Her cat suddenly sat up, seeing an answer to a riddle.
Leaving Teijan to reorganize and disperse his troops, she found a private spot and made a call to Lucas. “Have you considered the fact that maybe we should be using Bowen and his team?” They’d know all the tricks their ex-compatriots might use.
Lucas blew out a breath. “Yeah.”
“Just ‘yeah’?”
“I’m your alpha, Mercy,” Lucas said, voice quiet. “I picked up the mating dance this morning.”
She sucked in a breath. “You telling me you’re already using Bowen and his team, but don’t want Riley to know?”
“He’s not rational on this. Neither, for that matter, is Dorian.”
“But it’s Riley you’re worried about with me.” Turning, she fought the urge to kick at a nearby wall. “I’m a sentinel, Lucas. My loyalty is to DarkRiver.” Again, an alarm flared in her head. Again she didn’t listen, too angry to understand what it was attempting to tell her.
“I’m not questioning that.” Lucas’s tone changed, became openly alpha. “But the mating dance screws with your emotions—I didn’t want to put you in a tough spot.”
“I don’t spill things during pillow talk,” she said, frustrated and hurt that he’d think so little of her. “I can keep Pack secrets.”
“I know you can.” This time, the panther was in his voice. “Shit. I’m sorry, Merce. It was never meant as a comment on your loyalty to Pack.”
The cat was still bewildered by the blow that had come from nowhere, but she couldn’t doubt her alpha. Lucas didn’t lie to his sentinels, no matter if the truth was a bitter pill to swallow. “So?” she asked, releasing her fisted hand.
“We checked out Bowen and his team—everything we found backs their story. Right now, I’ve got them working on tracking down the new Alliance squad, but their major strength is in information. If we manage to unearth the name of the target . . .”
Mercy nodded. “Much easier to work backward. Who’s running Bowen and his people?”
“I am. I’ll let you know the instant they come up with anything—that was never a question.”
Feelings soothed, if not totally mended, she nodded. “Alright. I’d better get back to work.”
But she didn’t immediately return to her patrol area after hanging up, feeling a strong urge to speak to her mother. Comfort, she thought. She was like a cub seeking comfort. She didn’t care. Coding in the number for her childhood home, she waited until Lia answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“What’s the matter, darling?”
Her throat closed up at the unconditional love in that single sentence. “Things are a little mixed up.” She bent to pick up a marble t
hat had seen better days and threw it lightly into the air, catching it on the way down. “I guess I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Come to dinner, baby.”
“I don’t know if I can tonight, Mom.” She’d be lousy company in her current frame of mind. “But I’ll be by this week.”
“Mercy, sweetheart, does some of this ‘mixed up’ stuff have to do with a certain wolf?”
Mercy winced. “Who told you?”
“Well, I kept expecting you to do so . . .”
“I planned to,” she said, rolling the marble between thumb and forefinger and wondering why she’d ever thought anything could remain a secret from her mom.
“It doesn’t matter, baby. I took matters into my own hands.” A familiar hint of steel.
Mercy’s leopard sat up. “Oh?”
“I called Riley a few minutes ago. He’s coming to dinner tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”
Mercy hung up after a few more words, knowing a summons when she heard one. If she didn’t turn up, well, Mount Vesuvius had nothing on her mom.
It seemed to be her day for calls because no sooner had she gone to shove the phone into a pocket than Ashaya rang through. “We did a very, very quick run-through with the samples you brought up from the body,” the scientist told her, her voice excited. Too excited. Mercy went to ask what was wrong, but Ashaya was already continuing to speak. “He had traces of the same drug in him that we found on the men who tried to kidnap me.”
“Damn.” Mercy closed her fist around the marble. “You figured out what’s so special about it yet?”
“Possibly.” Ashaya paused. “I’m supposed to make sure I deliver reports to DarkRiver and SnowDancer simultaneously on this issue.”
It was normal procedure, but after the call with Lucas, she found herself irritated. Fighting the irrational emotion, she said, “Riley’s in the city. I’ll get him to meet me at HQ.”
Hanging up, she called Riley with the message before making her way back to the medium-sized office building DarkRiver owned near Chinatown. She should’ve felt more comfortable in her own office, but her cat refused to settle, its hackles rose—as if it could sense a danger the human side of her was too dense to see. Frustrated, she pushed the amorphous knowing to the back of her mind. Nothing, she thought, could be worse than having her loyalty questioned—if only by implication.
“You called?” Riley pushed through the office door, locking it behind him.
The leopard didn’t like that, seeing in it a possession that threatened an integral part of her life. “Ashaya’s got something to tell us.” Switching the clear screen of her computer to the comm function, she coded in the call.
Riley walked around to stand beside her chair, one arm along the back, fingers grazing the top of her head. She flicked him off, to his surprised expression. When he frowned, she concentrated on the screen, knowing that to him, her behavior had to be inexplicable. “Ashaya, we’re ready.”
The scientist came on-screen, blue-gray eyes vivid against smooth mocha-dark skin. “Alright,” she said, and recapped what she’d already told Mercy. “I’ve been working with Amara on this in order to speed things up, and we believe we’ve discovered the purpose of the drug.”
“Go on,” Mercy said, at the same time that Riley said, “What is it?”
Folding her arms, Mercy leaned back in her chair.
Ashaya looked from one to the other, but didn’t ask questions. “We can thank Amara for this. My twin decided that since it appears the targets of this substance are Psy, she’d inject herself.” Her hand was shaking when she lifted it to push back her hair—which was secured in two tight braids.
Mercy jerked upright. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, yes. She’s fine. Now.” Ashaya dropped her hand. “She took a very small amount.”
“And?” Riley prompted.
“And she found she couldn’t use any of her psychic abilities for five minutes.”
Annoyance forgotten, Mercy caught Riley’s eye. She saw the same tight excitement in him that she felt in her own gut. Glancing back to Ashaya, she said, “Can we replicate it?”
Ashaya didn’t look happy. “It’s like a drug that would stop you shifting, Mercy. How can I possibly justify reverse engineering something that painful? Amara would’ve had a breakdown if I hadn’t been linked with her through the entire process.”
“Shit, I didn’t think of it that way.” Mercy rubbed her face. “The thing is, if we had that drug, then we wouldn’t have to kill Psy on sight.” Right now, there was no talking, no negotiation. If a Psy came after a changeling, the changeling aimed to kill.
“It’d be a deterrent,” Riley added.
Ashaya shook her head. “Amara’s heart stopped.”
Mercy froze. All at once, she remembered the sudden, odd panic she’d felt on patrol a couple of hours earlier. She’d put the fleeting emotion down to her hyperawareness of her surroundings, but what if it had been something else, Ashaya’s scream for help? After all, as Dorian’s mate, Ashaya was in the Web of Stars, the blood-bonded network that connected DarkRiver sentinels to Lucas. “I thought you said she was okay.”
“I managed to get it restarted.” Trembling fingers pressed to her lips. “Amara couldn’t use her abilities for five minutes, but she crashed at the thirty-minute mark. Depending on the dosage, the drug could stop a Psy heart in any time range.”
Mercy brushed aside the information for the moment. “I’m going to call Dorian for you.”
“He’s almost here.” Ashaya lifted her hand in silent thanks, even as anger filled her expression. “They likely developed this drug to block Psy powers, but now they’re using it to weaken and kill.”
“Do you think they know?” Riley asked.
“It has to have been tested. They must’ve decided the risk was worth it.”
“Why?” Riley persisted. “What’s the point if the target dies?”
“Given the dosage we found in the darts, if they’d shot me during the kidnapping attempt, they would’ve had at least a ten-minute window either to give me some kind of an antidote—one that would’ve neutralized the fatal element—or be ready with equipment to restart the heart.” She took a deep breath. “They’re being extremely confident about its use, which makes me believe there is an antidote. There was medical equipment in one of the vehicles they drove to the ambush site.”
“But no possible trace of an antidote.” Mercy shook her head. “I’m more inclined to think they’re playing Russian roulette. Hearts don’t always restart.”
Ashaya nodded. “Either way, the Human Alliance is a real threat.” With that, she clicked off.
Riley rose to his full height. “If this drug didn’t have lethal side effects, would the ethics worry you?”
She took time to think about it. “It would devastate me if I couldn’t shift, but if the hit was temporary, I’d live. Right now, we don’t allow any Psy aggressors to live.” Because Psy could kill with a single violent mental blow.
“Still, to have a limb or a sense cut off, that’s brutal stuff.” His words were solemn, his presence intrinsically dominant.
“This is war.” A quiet one. A stealthy one—until the Human Alliance had started to take it public. But a war nonetheless. “And a drug like this could act as a very strong deterrent, keep the Psy from picking fights.” Looking at him, she suddenly knew why she’d reacted so strongly to Lucas’s admission, and then to Riley himself. It was a vicious kick to the gut. Oh, Jesus. “I have to get back to work. Bye.”
“Mercy.”
“Go away, wolf.” She stood, and strode over to unlock and pull open the door. “Don’t push me.” An angry truth churned in her, violent and distrustful. Had he known? But she wouldn’t ask him that right this moment, when the leopard was riding her with brutal ferocity.
He came to stand toe to toe with her. When he angled his head for a kiss, she showed him teeth. So he nipped her on the neck instead. Angered at the wild
fire that streaked through her at the fleeting caress, she shoved at his chest and sent him out the door. “And don’t come back tonight, either. I’ve got better things to do—”
A hand flat against her door, holding it open. “You’re not the kind to blow hot and cold. So what the fuck is this?”
She was so emotionally ravaged by the realization she’d just had that she clawed at him, the words coming out in an unthinking rush. “This is me being real. I’m busy—I don’t want to play tonsil hockey. Look, you’re okay in the sack, and we work well together, but I need my space. I don’t particularly want a man full-time in my life.”
His hand fell away. “I guess that’s going to make this mating hell for both of us.”
CHAPTER 42
The Ghost watched as word spread of the offer of voluntary mild rehabilitation—a process that would strengthen the basis of the conditioning that was Silence. For the first time, going to the Center didn’t mean death, but life . . . and people were beginning to seriously consider it. Predictably, the idea appealed most strongly to those with the most dangerous abilities.
The Ghost understood. His own ability could be incredibly destructive. But never would he submit to the M-Psy at the Center. Perhaps Silence was a cage that kept the monsters inside, but it was a cage nonetheless. He knew what it was to grow up inside a cage—a cage so tight, so restrictive that he’d almost forgotten how to breathe.
To willingly embrace the silver bars of another prison was not something he’d ever countenance. But he found himself hesitant to step in the path of those who were making the opposite choice. Did he have the right to turn them away from that which might save them? So many were cracking, breaking, shattering. Murders had increased in the past few months, a slow creep that tainted the Net with darkness. Even at that very moment, violence flickered on the edges of his vision.
That violence had always been a part of the Net, but now it was starting to rise to the surface, to grab control. But there was no symmetry to it, no sense of the scales being balanced. These bursts were like mini eruptions, destroying all in their path. Could he blame those who chose the cage of Silence if chaos was the only alternative?
